


Sanctuary

by FlorentineQuill



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe-- Happy Endings For Everybody!, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Minor Angst, because Queen Leila deserved better, minor worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorentineQuill/pseuds/FlorentineQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been eight years since Queen Leila slipped out of her castle and kingdom, rebuilding a new life Malath, a city far to the south and east of her old home. Little does she know, her two lives are about to collide when old, familiar faces appear in Malath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Eight years.

It had been eight years since Queen Leila had tragically passed away, leaving her husband to rule a broken kingdom alone. Eight years since the queen had slipped from her bedchamber, leaving a simulacrum of a corpse in her place. Her kingdom might have not had magic of its own, but gold (what was left of it), always opened surprising doors. And there had been gold enough to buy her passage, out of the kingdom, out of her marriage, and out of her old life entirely. 

She traded heavy velvet and thick silk, for rougher cotton and durable wool. The smallest of her rings bought sturdy boots, and a pack stuffed with supplies. Once out of the kingdom, her golden hair bought her tools, tools that she could use to make her way. A highborn lady’s hands were not calloused, except in the use of needle and thread— and she was one of the best. Folk were always willing to part with a small meal or even a coin or two in exchange for help with the household mending, or an embroidered handkerchief. 

She traveled south, and east. The rolling hills and flat farmlands gave way to flatter, tougher lands. Sand replaced most of the earth, and the sun was ever-present, searing the life out of everything it touched. Cities were few and far between in this part of the world, clustered around hidden water-caves, or the more common desert springs. As if to make up for the lack of temperate climes, magic grew more and more common. It had been quite the culture-shock, the first time she had seen a desert griffin passing down the street, or heard the dune-witches chanting over their wares. It marked her as something of an oddity, her quiet determination to avoid magic, but she was used to the whispers by now.

 The embroidery patterns they used on their clothes and rugs were intricate, more geometric than what she had grown up with. Still, her skills had been deemed good enough to earn her a place in a tailor’s shop in one of the larger cities, Malath, three years ago. News from the north was rare, the odd rumor or tall tale bandied about by far-traveling merchants. Leila paid no attention to the whispers she did hear, and was grateful for the darkening of her fair skin under the desert sun. She used a walnut dye to turn her sun-whitened hair brown, and was unremarkable amongst the other city women in her loose tunics and pants and colorful sashes.

She had never been the most studious as a girl, but necessity made her a quick study of the local tongue. There were three other girls working in the tailor shop, and they cheerfully tucked her under their collective wing. Dalal showed her the best markets, and how to haggle with the merchants. Ziva was patient with her stumbling, ungrammatical questions about local customs and different words. Nasira helped her find a small set of rooms that she could afford with her wages, near the booksellers. All of them were quick to laugh, and tease each other, drawing her into conversation as her vocabulary and grammar grew more intuitive. 

These days, she led a simple life, and was content. She worked in the shop, tending the shop and sewing in back, in equal measures. She often explored her new city on her days off, wandering between the different districts. She learned the quickest way between the bathhouses and the laundries, how to slip down to the city walls from the tall walls of the temples and university. Despite the years of peace in her newfound life, the reassurance of her anonymity, she wasn’t able to settle. She would be walking home with a day’s shopping, and her arms would prickle with gooseflesh, despite the heat of the day. Her apartment had a few luxuries— a lap rug, some books and scrolls, and her drop-spindle and yarn— but there was a stocked travel pack tucked in the bottom of her clothes chest. Just in case.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leila's friends are introduced.

“Leila!” Dalal stuck her head through the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the back. “I need you to cover the counter while I go get lunch!”

“What— again, Dalal?” Leila asked. “How come you always forget to bring your lunch? Has one of the street cooks caught your eye?”

Dalal snorted. “Bah! Those old, greasy men? Never! Though Payam does make the best hummus I’ve ever tasted,” she said, pretending to swoon. 

Leila laughed as she set aside the tunic she was embellishing, and stood up. “Go eat,” she said, flapping her hands. “Bring me back a skewer of goat, as payment!”

Ziva laughed, head still bent over her own work. “Good luck!” she said. “Dalal never brings back enough food for everyone. She prefers to taunt us with the delicious smells."

Dalal stuck out her tongue at Ziva before darting out the front door. Leila stepped out into the front of the shop. Examples of the tunics, pants, over-robes and coats they made, were everywhere in a mishmash of color. Smaller swatches of fabric and examples of delicate embroidery were collected into a massive book near the cash drawer at the front counter. Leila smoothed her fingers over the book. She closed her eyes, and breathed in the incense of the shop, listening to the bustle of the market outside, the sound of the door bells cheerfully jingling— 

“Leila?” 

Her eyes snapped open, and she blushed. She tugged her tunic straight, and smiled at the young man who had just entered. “Halim!” She covered her mouth with one hand, eyeing the familiar basket in his arms. “What have you managed to rip this time?”

Halim ducked his head as he stepped up to the counter. “Just a tunic and coat,” he said, spreading out the offending items of clothing. “They got snagged on some of the pegs. I’m surprised the loom didn’t fall on me.”

Leila clicked her tongue as she inspected the sizable tears. “You must be the clumsiest rug-weaver in Malath, I swear.”

“Did Halim tear something again?” Ziva shouted from the back. 

“Just a tunic and coat,” Leila called back. “Easy repairs, along the seams.”

Halim’s skin flushed under his tan, but he said nothing. Nasira and Ziva teased him the most, pretending to beat their breasts and wail over every torn stitch.

“Ha!” Ziva strode out front to inspect the damage herself. She ran a finger along the torn seams (several finger-lengths for both) and shook her finger at Halim. “You keep this shop open with all your mending, you know. Leila’s fingers will be worn to nothing if you keep bringing in such big tears.”

Leila surreptitiously stomped on Ziva’s toes, but Halim’s eyes widened. “Oh, but I could never do such a good job as Leila— I mean, as any of you!” he said. “I’m my mother’s despair when it comes to needle and thread, truly!”

Ziva snorted and snatched up the tunic and coat. “Best get started on these, then.” She paused peering in the basket. “What’s this…” Her grin was sly, and she ducked into the back without another word. 

Halim’s blush deepened. “I— I brought you something,” he said. “As a thank you for all the work you do.” He reached into the basket, and brought out a small terra cotta pot. He placed it on the counter for Leila’s inspection.

She picked up the pot and buried her nose in the small, aromatic leaves. “A mint plant! Halim, thank you…” She felt her cheeks burning, and smiled. “I’ve always loved the smell of mint.”

Halim smile widened. “You like it?” he asked. “Truly?”

“Truly,” she repeated, putting the mint back down. She looked down at the counter, fiddling with one of the leaves. “You’ve been very generous with your gifts,” she said softly. This was the latest in several gifts to her— A bouquet of desert blossoms, several hanks of beautifully dyed thread, even a small roll of delicate silk cloth. 

One of Halim’s hands, the fingers well-callused from setting warps and wefts, crept into her view. He touched the back of her hand. “I hope I have not been too forward,” he replied, just as quiet.

She shook her head, blushing again. She had not thought to find love in her life. Her marriage to Stefan had been one of state, her father fulfilling his word to his successor. The wedding, and the bedding that followed, had been well enough. Aurora had been a joy, for the few days she had had with her daughter. But then Stefan’s thoughts had turned to the Moors, and defeating Maleficent.  Out here, in the desert, where she was just Leila… Halim’s attentions were not unwelcome. He had never asked her for anything in return, just left his small, but not inexpensive gifts. She hadn’t worked up the courage to ask about the appropriate traditions, but Ziva and the others discussed friends and acquaintances who exchanged courting gifts as pledges. 

“I should get back to the shop,” Halim said, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

“Of course. I’m sure I’ll see you when you come back to pick up your mending,” she said, smiling. 

He laughed, and shook his head. “And to drop off more, I’m sure.” He squeezed her hand once, before turning and leaving the shop. Leila watched him go, and sighed. She looked down at the pot of mint and smiled. No, his attentions were not unwelcome at all.

“Is he gone? Yes, he left— Leila, you have to tell us everything! We couldn’t hear a thing, you were both too quiet!” 

“What on earth—” Leila turned to see Ziva and Dalal poking their heads through the back room’s curtain. “I thought you had to get lunch!” she told Dalal.

Dalal was unrepentant as she stepped through the curtain. “I did. After seeing that Halim was on his way here.” She grabbed onto Leila’s hands. “Now get back here— don’t forget the mint— and tell us everything!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Leila is a Persian name! Malath is loosely based on ancient Persian culture if you want to google the types of embroidery and clothes Leila would be wearing and making. 
> 
> Full disclosure, I didn't do massive amounts of research of any kind >.> I wanted a city with a Middle Eastern vibe/type culture. If anything is wrong or offensive, let me know!


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leila freaks out.

Leila propped her shopping basket on her hip, and prayed for patience. Her long, heartfelt sigh went unnoticed by Nasira. The merchant flashed her a sympathetic look before returning his attention to his potential customer. Nasira hummed, noncommittal. She had already tried samples from three other merchants, and had the shiny lips to prove it. All Leila had was sore feet and a stiffening back. “Nasira, make up your mind already,” she groaned. 

“You can use it in such a broad variety of dishes,” the merchant reminded Nasira, offering her the bottle of olive oil. “And it can be useful around the house.” Another, broader grin. “I use it on squeaky hinges, to keep my wife from complaining.”

Nasira laughed at that. “Oh, alright!” she said, and counted out the bottle’s price from her small purse. “If only to keep my friend from fainting in boredom.”

The merchant accepted the coins, and Nasira tucked the bottle of oil in her own basket. The two women moved off into the dwindling crowd at one of Malath’s evening markets. “What on earth is so important about a bottle of olive oil?” Leila asked, more than half-cross. It had been especially hot that day, and not even the covered marketplace was very cool.

“Ingredients are important,” Nasira replied with a sniff. “With the harvest feasts coming up, I only want to serve the best to my family. We’re hosting this year, and I can hardly let my cousins bring better food.” She gave Leila a side-long look. “You’re welcome to join us, as always.”

“Perhaps,” Leila replied. Magic was always involved in the holidays, something she struggled with. She still shied away from the street performers, when they called up mini-whirlwinds, or breathed out gusts of flame above the crowds, never mind the actual desert djinn.

Nasira’s look grew mischievous. “Or are you hoping to be dining with Ha-lim’s family this year?” she asked, drawing out the rug weaver’s name.

Leila opened her mouth to object, but the sharp reply died on her lips. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she froze. Other shoppers muttered and cursed, but moved around her. She felt cold all over, staring at the unmistakable profile ahead of her. Graceful horns curved up in the air above razor sharp cheekbones. Her jaw gaped as she took in the wings (wings that had haunted her dreams for fifteen years) as they rustled, tucking themselves closer to the faerie’s back in the crowd. Oh, the skin was darker from the desert sun, and the hair was worn loose instead of tucked up under a wrap, but there was no mistaking her. 

“Maleficent,” she whispered. Oh, why was the faerie here? Malath, of all places, literal kingdoms away from the Moors.

Nasira followed her gaze, and looked back at her friend. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “I know you’ve seen stranger folk in the markets before—“ she looked closer. “Leila, you’re white as a sheet.”

Leila shook her head. Panic was making it hard to think, too many fragmented thoughts fighting each other. “I— Nasira, I have to— I can’t stay here— I can’t let her see me!” 

Nasira didn’t wait for more of a response. She wrapped a strong arm around Leila’s shoulders, and steered her off to one side. “You’re trembling,” she said, guiding Leila through a twisting alleyway. “Did you know that lady djinn?”

Leila swallowed. “Once. In another life,” she managed. A sharp giggle escaped her, before she clamped one hand over her mouth. She shook her head, vision blurring. She bit her hand, pain staving off the tears and threatening hysteria.

Nasira clicked her tongue against her teeth, but didn’t ask anymore questions. Several turns and narrow streets later, she knocked on a broad, blue-painted door. Leila blinked, looking around them, trying to place where in the city Nasira had taken her. “This isn’t anywhere near where we live,” she said. “Wait, isn’t this the craftsman district?” Her heart did an odd dance in her chest, and she tried to pull away from. “Nasira, you didn’t—”

The door swung open. Halim looked just as surprised as she felt. “What on earth,” he managed before Nasira cut him off.

“Something happened at the markets,” she said, not loosening her grip on Leila. “Leila needed a safe place, and you were closer. May we come in?”

“Of course,” Halim said, and stepped to one side. “Come in, come in.” 

Leila numbly stepped over the threshold, and entered Halim’s workshop. No one else was there, she noted with the small part of her mind not taken up by panic. That was a relief— She didn’t think she could handle meeting the cousins and nephews who worked under him. Halim closed the door, and locked it. “Let me get you something to sit on. Do you need anything to eat, or drink? There might be some leftovers, let me check…” He ducked out of the main room, and she could hear cupboards and drawers rattling

Nasira was nudging her over to a low stool, in front of the massive standing loom that took up a whole wall of Halim’s workshop. Leila sat down, all her joints going loose. Her basket of groceries hit the ground, bruising all the vegetables inside, but she ignored it. Her thoughts had settled in a loop of _How did she find me, why is she here, what happened, her wings, I need to hide or leave or—_ She fingered the embroidery on her sleeve, trying to breathe. She was still trembling. She jumped at a gentle touch on her shoulder. 

“Here,” Nasira said gently, offering her a cup of wine. “Get that in you, before you pass out.” Behind her, Halim watched her with obvious worry. He held the bottle of wine and two more cups in one hand. On the other, he balanced a plate of cobbled together leftovers. 

Leila nodded. She drained the cup in several gulps, using both hands to keep from spilling. Halim and Nasira both settled themselves in front of her. Halim poured everyone more wine, and held the plate of leftovers up, before her. “You should eat, before the wine goes to your head,” he said softly. His lips twitched, a flicker of a smile. “My nephews enjoy strong vintages.”

“I see,” she said, and accepted the plate from him. She nibbled at the salty olives and chewy flatbread first, before drinking the second cup of wine. Her shaking had abated, the wine smoothing the edges of her panic into something she could ignore— for the moment. She took a final olive, and set the plate back down on the ground, where Nasira and Halim could reach. They didn’t touch it, still watching her.

“Leila,” Nasira said softly. “What happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, poor Leila. She was getting so settled, thinking about maybe getting some happiness for herself and...Maleficent shows up. (And Diaval, of course. He's just off getting them some food at that particular moment.)
> 
> But hey, Halim! Conveniently nearby, and ready to help in any way possible. Nasira is such a good friend, right? xD


	4. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leila explains a little and Halim has a suitably scruffy acquaintance who can help.

Leila studied the cup in her hands, not answering Nasira’s question. The clay was thick, a comforting sort of weight. The glaze was cool to the touch, glassy-slick. The potter had missed a spot, near the bottom edge. She rubbed a finger over the rough spot. “I— I knew her,” she managed. Her heart had stopped pounding, but it still felt two sizes too big for her chest. Her throat tightened. “She’s dangerous.” So, really, Leila needed to leave. She needed to get away, before Maleficent could find her, or her friends. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into the horrific fairy tale that was her life.

“Many of the djinn are dangerous,” Nasira said, eyebrows furrowing. And it was true, the desert spirits were deadly in their whims, especially when slighted. She had heard a half-dozen tales in the marketplace of how greedy, over-proud villains and heroes had died in a djinn’s grip. 

Leila shook her head. “Not like this,” she said, looking at them both. “She— Maleficent— She held an entire kingdom under siege.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Not by force of arms, or by magic, but…but just by existing. Stefan— The king, he would send out small armies to try and kill her.” Only after she had cursed Aurora. She could understand the faerie’s desire for vengeance, but why hadn’t she simply have killed Stefan and be done with it? Aurora had done nothing, except be born.

“They failed, if she is here in Malath,” Halim said. “But why would she be a danger to you? You left your home a long time ago, why would she know you?”

“I…was close to someone she knew,” Leila replied. Edged her way around the truth, because this was Halim. She didn’t want to lie to him, not really. She liked being Leila, the woman who worked in a tailor shop. Queen Leila had died, eight years ago. “Someone she hated. Someone she cursed. I— It took me years to leave. But I couldn’t stay there, either.”

She had loved her kingdom. She knew the borders, and the domains of every lord, count, earl, and duke. She had learned the different treaties and histories of the neighboring lands, even what little they knew of the Moors. To see Stefan tear the land apart, forbidding the use of spinning wheels, spending the treasury dry on iron ingots, grinding the life and loyalty out of their people— That might have truly killed her, if she had stayed.

“So you left,” Nasira said. She squeezed Leila’s hand. “You left, and came to Malath.”

Leila nodded. “There isn’t much magic in the north,” she said. Waved her free hand. “No one dares venture there, they’re too afraid.”  She looked down, trying to think of how to describe it. “There are no herb-witches, or storm-finders. You can only find it in the Moors. Magic— Magic is dangerous. Don’t go into the woods, or the dark creatures will eat you. There was a terrible war, almost a century ago. We…we don’t get along with the fae,” she said lamely. “It’s nothing like here, in the southern lands.”

“Oh, our histories are far from bloodless, when it comes to magic,” Nasira said dryly. “We might have had more time than your lands, and the desert makes allies of even the most unlikely folk.”

Leila laughed, but there was no humor in it. “It would take a miracle for the Moors to open its borders. Maleficent put up massive thorn walls, to keep everyone out.” She bit her lip. “That’s what frightens me. For her to be here, of all places…” Her throat tightened. 

“You think she is looking for you?” Halim asked. He rubbed at his chin, eyes dark.

Leila shrugged, trying to make light of it. “She would hardly leave the Moors for a pleasure-trip.”

Halim stood up. “I can borrow Ali, from next door,” he said, straightening his clothes. “He’s an apprentice, always getting into mischief. He can keep an eye on this Maleficent, tell us if she is truly searching for you.”

He left the shop before Leila could say anything to stop him. Nasira watched him go with an air of satisfaction. “I knew he would be willing to help,” she said. Gave Leila a side-long glance. “I’m shocked no one else has snapped him up for a husband, yet.”

“Nasira!” Leila hissed, her fright forgotten. “Now is not the time for jokes!”

“Who said anything about jokes?” Nasira retorted. “Don’t tell me you think he’s actually so clumsy to be tearing his clothes every week.”

Leila’s cheeks burned. “Not after he started bringing me flowers,” she admitted.

Before Nasira could say anything more, Halim was back. He had a firm grip on the thin shoulder of scruffy boy, around seven or eight years old. “This is Leila, and her friend, Nasira,” he told the boy. “Be polite. Ladies, meet Ali.”

Ali grinned, showing off a gap-toothed smile. “Leila?” he asked slyly. Halim’s grip tightened on his shoulder, and he bobbed his head in an awkward bow. “It’s nice to meet you, Leila and Nasira.”

Nasira looked amused, and Leila smiled at the boy. “Hello, Ali.”

“Remember what I promised you, Ali.” Halim said. “A whole damar of your own, for every day you follow the lady djinn, and come tell me about it.”

This nod was sharper, and Ali’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Leila. “Halim said you could tell me what she looks like?” 

Leila shivered. “Yes,” she said softly. She pushed herself up, onto feet that were only a little unsteady. “She’s taller than I am, and slender,” she said, sketching out Maleficent’s height with her hand. “She had great black horns, that spiral a little. She— She has wings. They’re black, like her hair, and massive.” She closed her eyes, and swallowed. It was far too easy to remember what the faerie looked like, for all that they had met the once. “Her cheekbones are sharp enough to cut you, and her eyes are bright, pale green.” She opened her eyes. “Do you think you can find her?” she asked.

Ali’s eyes were wide. He looked between Halim and Leila. “I only have to watch her, right?” he said. “Nothing else?”

“No!” Leila said sharply. She kneeled in front of the boy. “Don’t let her catch you, Ali. She’s dangerous.”

Ali shook his head. “If she catches me, I can’t help Mama,” he told her, far too serious for a seven year old. “She won’t see me, I promise. I can get my friends to help.” His grin was pure mischief. “Though I won’t share my damarii!”

“Good luck,” she said. “We last saw her at the evening market, just a few streets away.”

Halim steered the boy back out the door, where he vanished into the quickening twilight. Halim watched him go, before turning back to Leila. “I’ll escort you and Nasira home,” he said. “Let me get my coat, and lock the shop up.”

Nasira and Leila collected their baskets, and stepped out onto the street to wait. Halim joined them, and the trio set off down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next chapter is where all the fun begins :D Damar is just a unit of Malathan currency, with the plural being damarii. For all that Ali doesn't appear again in the story, he certainly has quite the backstory in my head.
> 
> Writing how Leila perceives Maleficent is fascinating. Though, watching the christening scene, Maleficent has wonderfully implied eye contact with Leila, every time she glances away from Stefan. What both women must have been thinking, looking the other over. Fodder for another fic, perhaps.


	5. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leila has unexpected visitors.

The following five days were some of the hardest in Leila’s life. She could hardly go to work, but that left her at loose ends. Her small apartment had never been cleaner, and she had finished spinning all of the wool she had bought. Skeins of fine goat’s wool thread were neatly bound and tagged in a basket, ready to be dyed different colors. Her nerves had worn themselves into exhaustion, leaving her quiet and twitchy, as she tried to focus on what few needlework projects she kept at home. Well, beside the coat she had started.

With Dalal's help, she had purchased a small length of rich, dark fabric. It was a delicate silk-cotton blend, worth almost a month of pay. The coat had already been cut and pieced together. Her fingers ached as she covered every inch of hem and seam with intricate patterns. She had plans for the back panel as well, but that would take another month at least. It was a man’s garment, one she was careful to keep out of sight. 

She had moved her emergency travel pack from the bottom of her clothing chest to by the door, much to her friends' displeasure. And there were several small jars, tucked into every room. All were filled with iron dust and filings that she had collected from the city blacksmiths when she first moved to the city. She was no warrior, but she wouldn’t need much more than a moment’s distraction to grab her pack and run, if it came to that. She resolutely didn’t think about the tales of how much stronger and faster the fae were, how quickly they healed— even from iron burns.

Someone knocked on her door, and her heart leapt. The one recompense for her days of isolation was Halim (always accompanied by one of her friends, as chaperone) coming to see her every night. He brought word of what Ali had seen for the day, and amusing tales from his workshop. He had eyed her piles of yarn last night, and though neither of them had said anything, she desperately hoped he would bring her some sort of project. 

She opened the door, and smiled at Halim. "Good evening, Leila," he said quietly.

Tonight he was accompanied by Ziva, who shook her head. “I brought baklava,” she said, pushing past Leila. “Come join me once you’ve stopped staring into each other’s eyes.”

“Ziva!” Leila swatted her friend on the arm. Both she and Halim were blushing as they stepped into her small sitting room. Ziva had already passed into the kitchen, and could be heard rummaging in the cupboards.

“Where are your plates— Oh, there they are— I speak nothing but the truth!” Ziva called. She reemerged with a small platter of dried dates and almonds, surrounded by the promised baklava. She also carried a pitcher of sun tea, and three cups.

“It’s alright,” Halim said. He settled onto a fat cushion. “Ziva is a very forthright. Not many people are. It’s…refreshing.”

Ziva plunked herself down on another cushion, setting out plates and cups. “Ha! Did you hear that? I'm forthright, and refreshing. I like that.”

Leila closed her eyes, and fought the urge to smile. “You are far more diplomatic than I am, Halim.” She joined her friends. “What news from Ali?”

—

Leila reeled back on her cushion, still laughing. Ziva was pounding the floor with her hand, laughing too hard to breathe. Halim was grinning sheepishly, watching them both. Leila took a deep breath, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Two whole looms—!” she managed. “How are you still alive?”

Halim shook his head. “I was expecting my father to untangle me from the mess, and beat me senseless.”

Ziva managed to stop laughing, chest heaving. “Would have served you right,” she said, gulping for enough air to speak. “Good gods, breaking two wall looms…”

“Oh, part of me almost wishes he had,” Halim said, still smiling. “But he didn’t lay a hand on me. No, he went and got everyone else in the family. My grandparents, my cousins, my mother and sisters— I got to enjoy the lectures, all at once, while my uncles untangled me. I spent the next month, helping repair the looms, and the next three months helping reweave the rugs I had damaged.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “I think I got most of my weaving calluses then.”

Leila reached out, and took one of his hands in hers. Halim went very still, watching her. She smoothed his fingers away from his palm. Her skin prickled as her own calluses dragged against his. “They’re hard earned,” she said.

Ziva opened her mouth, but there came a quiet knock at the door. Halim pulled his hand back, and Leila got to her feet. “One moment,” she called. She blushed. “We have been rather loud. It might be one of my neighbors.” Halim and Ziva had the grace to look abashed as she walked to the door. She patted down her hair, tugging her tunic and pants straight, tightening the knot of her sash. She opened the door, an apology already forming.

The words turned to ash in her mouth, unspoken.

Blood pounded in her ears, and she stared. She hadn’t seen the tan, scarred man that day at the market, but Ali and his friends had seen him in Maleficent’s company often enough. They had described his oddly dark, loose clothing and hunched shoulders. Standing behind him was Maleficent herself, her expression unreadable as she considered Leila. 

Leila grabbed for the small jar of iron shavings by the door. Before she could throw it, the man caught her wrist. His grip was firm, but not painful. The look he gave her was almost apologetic. Maleficent said nothing, and Leila stared at her. After a moment, the faerie spoke. “You’re remarkably alive, for a dead woman.” 

“And you seem to have recovered your wings,” Leila replied, stunned. After fours years speaking Persian, English felt awkward and heavy on her tongue.

“Leila?” Halim called.

Leila swore under her breath. The man let go of her wrist she pulled away, keeping the jar ready. He tracked her movement, sidling in front of Maleficent more fully and puffing out his chest. She heard footsteps in the hallway behind her, and then Halim was there, warm and solid against her back. There was a pause before— “Lady Maleficent,” he greeted. He inclined his head towards the faerie, who arched an eyebrow in return. “Are you alright?” he asked Leila.

“I don’t know how they found me,” she whispered. She didn’t dare take her eyes off Maleficent. She rested her weight on her heels, leaning against Halim for a moment. “You and Ziva should leave. I— I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She felt a flicker of vicious satisfaction as Maleficent and her companion exchanged a look. Whatever magic they had, it didn’t extend to learning languages.

“We’re not leaving you,” Ziva said from behind Halim. “We’re your friends. Besides,” she added pointedly. "You're blocking the door." 

Leila let out a huff of laughter. “Details,” she muttered. “How did you find me?” she asked Maleficent. 

“The boy and his helpers were not nearly as subtle as they thought,” Maleficent said. She tilted her head towards Halim. “Diaval followed them back to your companion. And then here. Imagine our surprise.”

“I see,” Leila said. She lifted her chin. “So why have you come?” she asked. Her throat tightened. “Are— Are you here to finish the job? Taking my daughter wasn’t enough? Even after getting your wings back?” Her voice cracked, and Halim’s hands tightened on her shoulders.

Maleficent’s wings shifted on her back, but the faerie queen’s voice was even. “My vengeance with your kingdom ended seven years ago,” she said. She bowed her head. “After my wings were returned to me, by your daughter.” Leila’s jaw dropped, but Maleficent wasn’t finished. “Your daughter, who sits on the throne of your land— and as queen of the Moors. We are equally crownless, it would seem.”

The jar of iron filings slipped from nerveless fingers. Maleficent moved then, a flick of her fingers sending wisps of gold to catch the jar before it could hit the ground. Leila jerked back a step, arms held up against any further attack, but Maleficent merely kept the jar aloft, hovering at waist-height. There was mischief— and a challenge in green eyes. Halim steadied her, rubbing her arms. “Courage, Leila,” he murmured. “Not all magic is ill.” Keeping one hand on her back, he nudged her elbow.

Not breathing, Leila reached out and took the jar. Gold stretched across her fingers, making the hair on her arm prickle. She tasted honey, and the warmth of gentler northern summers on her tongue as the magic pulled away from her skin. She restrained the urge to reach after it, focusing on how the jar weighed in her hand. Shaken, she passed the jar back to Halim, who set it down.

“Iron dust,” Maleficent said. “That is…well-thought of.” She studied Leila, and smiled slowly. 

“Clever,” The man— Diaval— said, and there was definite approval in his voice. “Not that I enjoy the thought of getting burned, mind you, but clever.” To Leila’s horror, he bowed. It was a deep, court bow; unmistakably from lesser lord to monarch. She flinched back again. People did not bow to a common tailor. “We didn’t come here to hurt you, your Majesty,” he said, coming back up. “It was a coincidence, I swear.” There was an earnestness to his words, but that did not comfort her. Faeries had been twisting truths for centuries, and their definitions of coincidence strained credulity.

“Leila, what is happening?” Halim asked. “Why did that djinn just bow?”

Leila shook her head. This was too much, her carefully separated worlds were colliding, and she couldn’t think. With a mental apology, she ignored Halim. “Aurora— Aurora is queen?” she asked. Her knees felt more than a little weak. “She’s alive?” And if she was queen— Stefan was dead?

“It’s a long story,” Maleficent said. Her gaze flickered over Halim and Ziva. “One you are comfortable sharing with your friends?”

Leila hesitated. “They don’t know much about my life,” she said. “Only that you cursed someone I knew. And held a kingdom under siege by merely existing.” Bitterness crept into her voice. “They wouldn’t know that much if you hadn’t come here. To them I am— I _was_ just Leila.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to remember the cadence and formality she had left far behind. “I would hear tell of my daughter,” she said slowly. “But not here.”

“Name a place,” Diaval replied, before Maleficent could speak. He smiled. “We would be happy to tell you about Aurora.” Maleficent’s eyebrow rose again, and her wings twitched, but she didn’t object.

Leila rubbed at the edge of her sleeve, thinking. “Halim,” she said, glancing at him. “I— I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Halim replied. He looked somewhat dazed, but he smiled. “I want to help.”

Leila rested her hand on top of his, and squeezed it. "Thank you." She looked at Maleficent, her gaze almost challenging. “Do you know where the booksellers are?” she asked.

Maleficent’s lips curled into a half-smile. “As if you didn’t know I do,” she replied.

Leila lifted one shoulder. “There’s a tea stall by the northern end of the bookseller's district,” she said. “I— We can meet there tomorrow. In the morning.”

Diaval’s lips twitched. Maleficent let out a slow breath, and inclined her head. “As you like…your Majesty.”

“Until tomorrow, my lady,” Diaval said with a smile, and another bow. 

Before she could think about it, Leila sank into a full curtsey. She had no skirts to spread, but her muscles remembered the movements, and the ends of her sash fanned out to one side. She said nothing as Maleficent and Diaval turned, and left. They blended into the shadows as they walked down the street, and out of sight. She waited several minutes before finally turning to face her friends. Ziva’s jaw was tight, but she said nothing. Leila stepped past Halim, to hug her friend tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I could not have done that without you.”

“Not that we did much,” Ziva replied dryly, hugging her back. “Though Halim did a wonderful job, propping you up.” She looked at Leila, eyes searching. “Is everything all right? You’re very pale.”

“I will be,” Leila promised her friend. “I— They weren’t here for me. A coincidence, apparently. But they had news for me, important news.”

“What news?” Halim asked. “Did they tell it to you?”

Leila shook her head. “No,” she said. “I promised to meet them tomorrow morning, at old Adila’s tea shop.” She looked at Halim. “Would you come with me?” A deep breath, to steel what was left of her nerves. “Alone?”

Halim’s eyes widened, and Ziva sucked in a breath. “I— I would be honored,” Halim said. He frowned. “Leila, what happened? Why did he bow to you?”

“I’ll explain everything,” Leila said, swallowing. “After Ziva leaves.”

Ziva snorted. She ducked back into the sitting room, and emerged with her coat. “I know where I’m not needed,” she said. “And if anyone asks, of course Halim and I left together, and he escorted me home like any true gentleman would. You two were never left alone. Overnight.” She moved towards the door. “Before the wedding.”

“ _Ziva!”_ But it was too late, Ziva was out the door and walking down the street. Her own apartment was only a few streets away, and her neighbors were terribly uninterested in each other. The story, pathetic as it was, would hold. Shaking her head, Leila closed the door. Halim followed her back into the sitting room, and they settled themselves back on their cushions. He said nothing, but waited patiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I am sorry about the lateness of this chapter-- I did not mean to create a mini cliffhanger, I swear. But hey, this is double the usual word count, so there's that? I originally started this story from Maleficent's point of view, and this was one of the first scenes. However, when I tried to write the meeting, my forehead became good friends with my desk. Switching the POV to Leila opened up a lot of doors :)


	6. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leila shares her tragic backstory.

“My name is Leila,” she said quietly. “And I am from one of the northern kingdoms. That much is true.” She smoothed her fingers over the ends of her embroiled sash. Her heart had stopped pounding against her ribs at some point, but it started to pick back up.

Halim reached out a hand, and stilled her nervous fingers. “But that’s not all,” he said. “Were you a noble, of some sort?” he asked. “The lord djinn seemed very…polite. And the lady djinn, in her own way.” He smiled. “You were very graceful when you curtsied.”

A bubble of laughter escaped Leila, before she stifled it. She stared at the wall over Halim’s left shoulder, not daring to look at him. “A noble,” she repeated, and her smile was bitter. “Halim, I— I was a queen.” She let out a breath. “Queen Leila, daughter of King Henry, wife to King Stefan.” Halim stiffened, drawing back from her, but she continued in a rush. “I’m sure Stefan’s dead! For Maleficent to have her wings back— Stefan has to be dead.” She had never learned the entirety of whatever story had come before Stefan's stealing Maleficent's wings, had not wanted to. But Stefan's knowledge of the Moors borders, and Maleficent's magic had told stories of their own. Not that it had helped any of the army, once the thorns had grown.

Halim look relieved. Widows were known to remarry. Affairs were far more scandalous, ruining everyone involved if word escaped. Some couples enjoyed alternative arrangements, but they kept very, very quiet if they did so. “If the king is dead, who rules your land now?” he asked.

“My daughter,” Leila said softly. “Aurora.” She got up, pacing the small room. She caught a look of Halim’s pole-axed expression and turned away. Fear of a different sort curled in her stomach, and she thought of the pack sitting by the front door. “I don’t understand how!” she said. “I— Maleficent cursed Aurora, how can she be queen? Who broke the curse?  She’s queen of the Moors? What happened? We’ve been enemies for centuries! For them to accept a human ruler...”

“Leila.” Halim placed a hand on her shoulder. She stopped pacing. “Please, look at me.” She turned around and did so reluctantly. He smiled, eyes crinkling. “I’m not angry, I promise,” he said, moving to hold her hands. “It’s just…a bit much, to take in.” He let out a breath. “My father always said I would marry well. I don’t think he meant for me to marry so well,” he joked.

Leila cracked a smile at that. “You don’t find former queens in tailor shops very often, do you?” she said.

“Only in fairy tales,” Halim said.

Leila flinched at his choice of words. “Fairy tales are not the comfortable things to live,” she said. “It’s all very well to hear of someone else’s misfortune, set centuries in the past, but to be the one living it…”

Halim flushed. “That was ill-spoken of me,” he said. “I apologize. Here, sit back down.” He guided her back to her seat, but instead of sitting across from her, he sat next to her. She leaned against him, feeling his warm, supporting strength. He was still holding her left hand in his, and she squeezed it in silent thanks.

“I can’t tell you everything tonight,” she said. “It’s…a very long story.” She closed her eyes. She was so very tired, now that the threat had passed. “I never expected to tell it to anyone, not after I left home. All of our neighbors knew, but they didn’t dare get involved.” With no allies, no outside help, Stefan’s madness had been unchecked. She had often wondered what would have happened, if she had called upon the alliances her father had forged, if she had fought for her lands, or her daughter more fiercely— If, if, if. Ifs haunted her at night. 

“But you will tell me everything?” Halim asked. “Eventually?”

Leila rested her head on his shoulder. “It would only be right. You helped me stand against— well, in front of— one of my nightmares made real.”

“A djinn so powerful, she held an entire land under siege with nothing but her breath,” Halim mused. “Fodder fit for a tapestry-tale…” The greatest legends of this harsh desert land were woven into massive tapestries that hung in the homes of nobles, temples, and the university’s libraries.

“It would take you far too many years,” Leila replied. “But you’re more than welcome to try.”

“Only if it would not hurt you,” he promised. “I am content with my work, without adding the challenge a tapestry-tale entails.”

She considered that for a moment. “Perhaps,” she allowed. “You would need the entire story, and even I do not know the ending.”

“Hence the meeting tomorrow,” Halim said. It was his turn to squeeze her hand. “But the beginning?” he asked. “You know that far too well.”

Leila’s soft “Ha!” was devoid of amusement. She drew in a deep breath. “My father died shortly after Maleficent defeated him in battle, twenty-three years ago,” she said. “He promised the throne, and my hand in marriage, to whoever could kill her. Stefan…stole Maleficent’s wings, to claim the throne.” She shuddered, remembering the sight of those massive wings, lying on her father’s bed, and then displayed for the entire castle to see, before Stefan shut them away.

Halim blanched. “Dear, merciful gods,” he managed. “And she let him live?”

She shook her head. “She was waiting. Watching. She— she came to Aurora’s christening. I— There was nothing I could do,” she said, voice cracking. “I just stood there, as she cursed my daughter, to eternal sleep on her sixteenth birthday. I understand why she did it, truly, I do, but why did she have to curse my daughter? Why not go after Stefan directly? She had him at her feet, it would have been easy enough!”

“Djinn are not of this world,” Halim said quietly. “For all that some of them appear almost human, their ways of thinking are often…slanted. And many can be cruel, even without just cause.” He tugged his hand free of her white-knuckled grip, only to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “But explanations do little to ease a mother’s grief. What happened after that?”

She slid her arm around his waist in return, and reminded herself to breathe. Stefan had not been unkind, in their marriage bed, but the small touches she had enjoyed had vanished after her pregnancy was known. She had not wanted them back, not after Aurora had been cursed and hidden away from her. “Stefan sent Aurora away,” she said, her voice dull after her outburst. “And he spent the next fifteen years, destroying the kingdom to try and kill Maleficent. He was insane, obsessed. He would barely eat or sleep, he had the entire castle terrified of him. I couldn’t stand by and watch. So, I— I faked my death, and ran away.” She shuddered. As princess, she had not had many responsibilities, but the memory of the few oaths she had broken by running away made her heart ache, even now.

“Eventually ending up as a tailor in a little shop, here in Malath,” Halim said. He let out a slow breath.

“Eventually ending up as a tailor,” she repeated with a small shrug. “Until today.” She shook her head. “I was happy as Leila, the tailor,” she said. “To become the queen, or even a lady once more, is stifling.”

“Must you?” Halim asked. His chuckle was rueful. “Lady Leila is much more intimidating to court.”

“Only for the morning, I hope,” Leila reassured him. “After that—” She lifted her chin, jaw set. “I don’t care what Maleficent does in Malath, so long as she leaves me alone.”

“From what Ali has told us, she is more interested in harassing our learned sorcerers, and some of the desert-djinn,” Halim said dryly. “You might ask her what she wants, tomorrow. The sooner she has what she seeks, the sooner she will leave us.”

Leila opened her mouth to object to helping Maleficent in any way, but closed it again. She thought that over. “I just might do that,” she said. “I’m not sure how much help I can offer, since she doesn’t know Persian.” She sat up straighter. “And I’m _not_ going to play translator for her.” She had worked hard to build her life here. Maleficent had casually destroyed her life once, she wasn’t going to let it happen again. “I have work to do, a life to get back to.”

Halim nodded, and stifled a yawn. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It has been a very busy day.”

“And we have an early morning.” Leila recalled Ziva’s taunts, and fought the urge to blush. She stood up. “I can make up a bed for you here, if you like, but…” She took a deep breath. “My courting gift to you isn’t finished,” she said, her voice soft. “And nothing has been announced, but I do not wish to sleep alone with my thoughts tonight.”

 Halim swallowed once. “I would not dare presume,” he started to say, but shook his head. He got on his knees and took her hands in his. “You do me a great honor, accepting my suit and hand,” he said, words heavy with formality.

Leila tugged him up onto his feet. “You do me equal honor, accepting me,” she replied. “Even after all of this.”

“I suspected your story was a sad one, given how little you talked about your past,” Halim said with a shrug. “The scope was just a little wider than I had imagined.” He smiled. “It does not matter.”

“It matters to me,” Leila said. “It matters a great deal.” She stepped closer to him, and cupped his cheek with one hand. “Motošakkeram, man 'ešq” she whispered.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “No thanks are necessary, my love,” he said. “As you said, it will be an early morning. We should get some rest.”

Leila smiled, and took his hand, leading him out of the sitting room and towards her small bedroom. Her bed was small, but there was room enough for them both, if they cuddled close enough. Somehow, she did not think that would be an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halim is...very accepting. He's probably going to need a day or two to himself to absorb everything, but only after he finishes supporting Leila through this Difficult Time. But now he knows! 
> 
> The tiny bit of Persian at the end was cobbled together with the help of Wiktionary and Google Translate. Leila only says "Thank you, my love."


	7. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Diaval is forced to work.

The sun hadn’t been in the sky long enough to drive the cold out of the shadows. Leila wrapped her coat around herself more tightly, and resisted the urge to curl closer to Halim. He let out a soft huff of amusement, and tucked her arm in his, warming her hand in his. “I would have thought you could handle a morning chill, being from the north,” he teased. 

“I traveled south for more than one reason,” Leila replied darkly. “Have you ever tried to keep a massive pile of stone heated when it’s snowing outside? It’s impossible. You spend your days wrapped up in the thickest clothes you have, curled next to a fire, and dreaming of spring.”

“That does not sound very pleasant,” Halim allowed. They rounded the curve of the street that marked the northern end of the bookseller’s district. Old Adila’s tea shop was in sight, and Maleficent and Diaval were already waiting. 

Leila took the chance to study the two faeries. Maleficent was seated on a stool, her wings spread out behind her. They seemed oddly loose to Leila’s eyes, the leading edges curled forward around broad shoulders. Diaval was standing behind her, finger-combing her hair as they talked. He parted her hair around the base of her horns, tucking it behind pointed ears. Maleficent arched her neck in his touch and—

“Oh,” Leila said, very, very softly, as Diaval dropped a smiling kiss onto Maleficent’s cheek before stepping away. "I didn't realize..."

"Not something you expected?" Halim asked, and she shook her head. 

Diaval looked up and saw them first, almost half-way down the street. He considered them for a moment, before saying something else to Maleficent. Whatever it was, it earned him a half-hearted shove with one of her wings, as he moved towards the counter of the tea shop. Maleficent’s wings drew in, tucking closer to her back, and she turned enough to watch Leila’s and Halim’s approach.

Leila drew in a deep breath, and straightened her shoulders as she met pale green eyes. Her pace grew more deliberate, and Halim matched his steps to hers. “Brave heart, Lady Leila,” he murmured. He lifted his chin, but she caught the flicker of a smile when she glanced up at him. “She means you no harm, this day.”

“This day,” Leila repeated, and said nothing more. They entered the small fence that blocked off the tea shop’s seating from the flow of street traffic. Maleficent watched as Halim pulled out Leila’s chair first, helping her sit, before taking his own seat. “Good morning, my lady,” Leila said, ignoring how her heart started to speed up. She could do this. She would do this.

Maleficent inclined her head. “Lady Leila,” she replied. She studied Halim for a moment. “You never introduced your companion last night,” she said.

“This is Halim,” Leila said. “He’s been a very good friend to me.”

Halim gave a little bow at the mention of his name. “Lady Maleficent,” he greeted her, in Persian. “Lord Diaval,” he added, when Diaval reappeared.

Diaval smiled as he seated himself. “Good morning, my lady, my lord,” he said. A server approached the table, and Diaval waved him forward. “I took the liberty of ordering tea for the table,” he said as the server set out cups, a small dish of honey crystals, and finally the silver-worked carafe, steam drifting from the spout. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Leila shook her head. “Not at all. It was very kind of you.” For a few minutes, everyone busied themselves with the business of pouring tea (Leila careful to accept the carafe from Diaval, who poured for both himself and Maleficent), and passing the honey. Once that was done, however, a silence fell over the table. Leila wrapped her hands around her cup, considering how to break the ice. She was saved from having to do so, when Diaval spoke.

“I’m not supposed to be working, you know,” he said to no one in particular. “Aurora ordered it. I was half expecting an official scroll.” He gave Maleficent a significant look. “She was very emphatic on that point.” 

Maleficent raised one eyebrow. “As if you haven’t been taking notes on every culture we’ve encountered,” she replied. 

“What is it that you did, that was so arduous?” Leila asked. 

Diaval raised his cup of tea in a mock-toast, smiling. “Ambassador Diaval to Her Majesty Aurora’s court, on behalf of Maleficent, former Queen of the Moors, at your service. I had the pleasure of hammering out the treaty between your former home and the Moors.” He fingered a pendent around his neck. The crystal glowed gold with more than just morning light, and there were two feathers on either side of it. One feather was instantly recognizable, what with its source sitting not two feet away. The other feather was a glossy black, but unremarkable. 

“I am in high company, indeed,” Leila replied with a faint smile. She took of a sip of her tea. Set the cup down. Absently, she smoothed one sleeve down, rubbing her fingers over the intricate embroidery there. Maleficent’s eyes were drawn to the motion, even as Halim rested one hand over Leila’s, stilling nervous fingers.

“Aurora does that,” Maleficent said, and Leila’s heart skipped a beat or three.

“She— She does?” Leila asked.

Was that actual hesitance in the faerie’s manner? Maleficent tapped one finger against her cup, and she spoke slowly. “She doesn’t do it often. Only when she’s worried about something, and she can’t do anything else. Usually someone can remind her to stop before an entire panel falls off.”

“I did the same thing when I was a little girl,” Leila said, looking down at her hands. “The tailors started making me sew whatever I unpicked back into place.” She smoothed her sleeve again. “What— What would you tell me of my daughter?” she asked.

Maleficent lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Would you not rather hear of your…husband?” she asked. There was an odd sort of venom in her voice, but not, Leila thought, directed at her. “Not that there is much to tell.”

“Stefan must be dead, if Aurora is queen,” Leila said flatly. “I can only assume you had a hand in that.”

Bright red lips curled up into an approving smile. “Well, well. I thought you might have a spine of iron underneath that finery,” Maleficent murmured. “Not that you had much of a chance to display it.” Before Leila could respond, she continued, “Stefan died seven years ago, but it was his own doing. With my wings returned, my revenge was…satisfied.”

“But Stefan wasn’t,” Leila said. She closed her eyes for a moment. “He was insane, even before I left. I’m— I’m glad he’s dead,” she told Maleficent, ignoring Diaval’s raised eyebrows. “He was tearing the kingdom to pieces and that, I could not bear. Not after you had already cursed my daughter.”

“You loved your land,” Diaval said, leaning back in his seat. “I can’t possibly think of why that sounds familiar.” He folded his arms across his chest, pointedly not looking at Maleficent.

“Impudent bird,” Maleficent said, but there was no censure in her voice. “I know Aurora has spent much of the last seven years repairing the damage Stefan wrought,” she said. “When we left, there were several other ambassadors in her court, seeking new trade agreements. Mostly with the humans, but a few with the Moors, through Aurora.”

“She’s a good queen?” Leila pressed. “She is happy?”

Maleficent shifted in her seat. “I do not often spend time at her court,” she said. Her lips thinned. “One or two days of courtiers and servants flinching away from me is amusing. Anything more is…irritating. And I still have duties in the Moors.” She glanced at Diaval. “Diaval?”

“You are rather intimidating, Mistress,” he replied, before sitting up a little straighter. “From what I have seen, and what people say, both in the court, and outside of it, Aurora is a very good queen,” he said. “She spends time in both the palace and the Moors.” His grin was rather crooked. “She drives her guards to distraction, trying to escape their watch to visit her subjects, and friends.”

“To be fair, she rarely succeeds,” Maleficent added. “The last time was…” She paused, and her words were only a little edged. “When Prince Philip of Ulstead proposed to her. That was almost two years ago.” Brown feathers were slicked down, and the faerie’s back was ramrod straight. Beside her, Diaval scowled openly.

Leila sipped her tea to hide the smile tugging at her lips. For whatever reason, neither faerie liked Prince Philip. “Prince Philip,” she murmured, trying to place the name. “King Jon’s third son?” she asked, and received a nod from Diaval.

“He was visiting the castle when Aurora’s curse was broken,” he explained, his voice sour. “Somehow, he never quite left. He was a constant help to Aurora, as she learned how to care for her kingdom.”

Leila tightened her grip on her cup. “Was— Was he the one to break the curse, then?” she asked.

Diaval’s cackle of laughter was poorly smothered, and Maleficent’s wings _twitched_. “He had only met her that afternoon,” the faerie said curtly. “No. True love is not formed so quickly.”

“Then who broke the curse?” Leila asked, taken aback.

Maleficent lifted her chin, but said nothing. Diaval sobered. “True love is not limited to romantic love,” he said. He hesitated, glancing at Maleficent. She stared back at him, eyes glittering green-gold.

Leila looked between the two of them. Stories and well-guarded secrets hung in the air between them, but she wanted none of it. “Speak plainly,” she ordered, setting her cup down on the table. “Who broke my daughter’s curse?”

“I did!” Maleficent said. Her words cracked through the air, but Leila refused to flinch.

“You?” she asked, staring. “That…is not amusing. My lady.” The title was spoken through gritted teeth.

Halim touched her arm again. “Leila, what did she just say?” he asked. “What has upset you?”

“She claims that she broke Aurora’s curse,” Leila explained, shaking her head. “She laid that curse, she made it so that no one could break it— except with true love's kiss. How…” She shook her head. “It’s not possible,” she said, in English.

“Who else was there?” Maleficent asked, lip curling. “The pixies? Those three thought they could hide her by the Moors, without my noticing. They were off collecting any handsome young man they could find, in the hopes that one of them could break the curse. Stefan? He was too busy laying his traps.” She let out a slow breath. “I do not regret laying my curse. Stefan stole my wings, I wanted him to suffer for it. That it ensnared Aurora—” Maleficent’s expression softened. “She wondered at everything the Moors had to offer, even under my dark reign,” she said. “She loved everyone, from the sprites to the wallerbogs. And she never wanted anything, not a single crystal or flower. That the curse ensnared her— That I do regret.”

“We found where the pixies were living, and Aurora,” Diaval explained. “We watched her grow up. She was forever wandering the forest near the border.” He sat up straight, not quite puffing out his chest. An odd sort of smile was on his lips, but he didn’t elaborate. 

“I brought her into the Moors,” Maleficent said. “I…grew to care about her. She did not know my name, and I did not tell her. I was content to be Godmother.” She shook her head. “I tried to revoke the curse, the summer before her sixteenth birthday, but it would not be broken.”

“You tried…” Leila sat back. Her head was spinning with revelation heaped upon revelation. “Even before you had your wings again?”

“I did not know Stefan had kept them,” Maleficent replied. “And I had grown…accustomed, to life without wings, after so many years.” Diaval stirred, looking ready to object, but stopped at her quelling glance. “I spent months after Stefan’s death, rebuilding my flight muscles.”

“In the meantime, she sent me as ambassador to Aurora’s court,” Diaval said. “It took several years, but a treaty was written, and enacted. Maleficent stepped down, and Aurora was crowned. That was nearly three years ago.”

“I see,” Leila said. Her tea was lukewarm, but she finished the cup. “Then...what brought you to Malath?”

Diaval slouched in his seat, and Maleficent chuckled. “Aurora thought a certain ambassador was working too hard,” she said. Diaval grumbled under his breath. Maleficent ignored him. “And there had been talk of traveling, after the treaty was signed. Arrangements were made, and we left the Moors, several months ago.”

Leila nodded slowly. “It truly was coincidence that you ended up here. Are— Are you staying long?”

Maleficent shook her head, and Leila kept her sigh of relief tucked behind her teeth. “Diaval chases down new food, and exciting customs. I prefer looking at the local magics of a place, seeing how it differs from the Moors. While there is plenty to study here, we do not have the time.” Another half-smile. “And I do not think you would share your city very well.” She tapped one long nail on the table.

“Malath is hardly mine,” Leila replied. “I could hardly prevent you from staying.” A deliberate pause. “Skirt the edge of the desert mountains, and you come to the sea. I’ve heard they have floating islands, and several breeds of dragons there. The merchants are quite poetic in their descriptions.”

Diaval laughed. “I do believe we’re being diplomatically told to shove off, Mistress,” he said, amusement visible in dark eyes. “No one’s done that to me for decades.”

“I suspect they were far less polite about it,” Maleficent said, and stood up. She considered Leila, and Halim. “If you wish, I will tell no one that you are alive and well,” she said. “If not…Well. Letters are easily carried, and messenger birds can be trained.”

“Thank you,” Leila said, politeness covering her shock at such an offer. “I will consider it. When do you leave the city?”

Maleficent stretched her wings out, one at a time, careful not to knock over nearby tables or chairs. “Two days, I think,” she said, folding her wings back in. She half-turned towards the gate. “Diaval? Will that be enough time?”

“Plenty,” he said, shrugging. He rose to his feet, and bowed. “It was a wonder, meeting you, Lady Leila. Even if you do not write Aurora, I will be sure to write you.”

Leila smiled. “I look forward to your letters, Ambassador Diaval. I wish you well on your travels.” She inclined her head, and watched as Diaval stepped towards Maleficent. He offered her his hand, and she accepted it. They left the tea stall, strolling easily through the morning traffic. Halim watched them leave before turning to Leila. 

“Everything is well?” he asked her. “All that needing saying was said?”

Leila considered Maleficent's wings, still visible even in the crowd. A very bizarre ending to her fairy tale, but an ending all the same. “I think so, yes,” she said. “I have a very long letter to write, for them to take back, but yes. Everything is well.”

“Oh, good,” he said, with an over-exaggerated sigh of relief. “I would hate to start planning the wedding if it wasn’t. It would be an ill omen, you see.” 

Leila laughed at that, and stood. She tugged Halim up onto his feet. “I haven’t finished my courting gift to you,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And shouldn’t you introduce me to your family first?”

“Bah, details,” Halim with a smile. “I’m sure we can work something out.” He offered her his arm, and they stepped out into the growing morning traffic as the sun rose up into the sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Diaval, forced to nudge the conversation along. And poor Halim-- He really doesn't get the chance to do much here, beyond serve as moral support for Leila.
> 
> All that's left is the epilogue! And the sequel, of course, but that's not finished.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a letter is received

Leila shed her coat as she walked through the door. She could hear Halim moving about in the kitchen, and her heart felt too big for her chest. They had been married for almost six months, and she still felt giddy at times. 

It had taken her a month to finish the jacket that was her courting gift to him, and another month beyond that for the wedding to take place. Friends and Halim’s family had filled one of the smaller temples, showering them with blossoms, blessings, and gifts. It had been well after sundown before she and her new husband could escape the festivities, running through the streets to their new home. 

“Halim, I’m home,” she called, already moving towards the kitchen. Of the pair, he was more adept at cooking, and often beat her home.

“Excellent! Come here, come here, we have a guest,” he replied. She heard an odd, rasping chirp and stepped into the kitchen.

Halim was watching over a steaming pot on the stove, and keeping an eye on their “guest.” He was seated on the back of the chairs surrounding the tiny table she and Halim had crammed in. Bowls of water, dry seeds, and fresh bits of chicken were set before him, but they were ignored in favor of watching her. After a moment, he turned his head away, and preened a long, broad, wing.

“Oh,” she said, and then the implications struck her. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh! Aurora’s reply?”

The messenger bird— for that’s what he was, one of a particular breed of eagles bred for long distance flying— stretched and shook out his neck, emphasizing the light leather harness he wore, holding the message tube in place on his back.

“I thought it best to wait for you,” Halim said, taking the pot off the stove. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Leila nodded, and approached the eagle warily. He watched her with a fierce intelligence, but held quite still as she removed the message tube from his back, and opened it. She slid into the opposite seat, tapping the letter out of its tube. There were several pages, all rolled together and tied with a ribbon of green. Holding her breath, Leila pulled the ribbon loose. As Halim and the bird watched, she unrolled the letter and started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter summary: In which the author is an utter, utter, copout who didn't want to write the minor FEELS EXPLOSION either letter would have contained :)
> 
> I am working on a sequel where Leila and Halim travel to the Moors, and Leila gets to meet her daughter but it's proving stubborn. Thanks for reading-- I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
